Worn
by Hay Bails
Summary: Nate River is hurting after his parents' deaths. L tries to comfort him, but perhaps someone who is broken shouldn't be doing the comforting... One shot. Wammy's House, Pre-Kira.
Nate River closed his hand slowly around the rabbit's ears. The once-soft material scratched gently against the pads of his fingers, giving the illusion of warmth. Tears rose inexplicably to his eyes. He scraped furiously at his face with the palm of his other hand – he thought he had been done with this.

The rabbit, and the person who had bequeathed it to him, both watched with heads cocked in similar, sad positions. After an intensely uncomfortable moment, L's spindly arms reached forward. The detective tapped Nate's shoulders with the inside of one wrist, then the other, in a parody of a quick hug. His eyes searched Nate's own, full of questions.

Nate wheezed out one tiny laugh. He brought his knees in close, shifting the blanket underneath him slightly.

"You're really bad at this." His voice trembled without his consent, and he shook his head, consigning himself to silence for the rest of his cry.

This caught L off-guard, though. The older boy's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

"I'll admit it's not my area of expertise," L conceded softly. He tapped Nate's shoulder with the inside of a wrist once more, this time daring to leave it there for a few seconds before lifting it away again. "Why does the rabbit make you upset?"

Nate shook his head. He would not speak again, not while his voice betrayed his feelings. L "hmm"-ed but said nothing else. The boy was grateful for that.

Without asking permission, L made his way onto the small bed, sitting beside Nate with his back propped against the wall. He didn't quite touch the small boy. The springs groaned once before going silent. For perhaps five minutes, there was no sound save the occasional near-silent sob as the child schooled his emotions.

"I was orphaned too," L said suddenly, in a voice so quiet Nate almost didn't hear. The child looked at the detective, worrying the rabbit's ears in his hands. L's eyes were trained on the opposite wall. He curled inward, just a touch. Nate said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"My mother made the rabbit for me." L cleared his throat. "We were rich, she could have bought me anything. But she sewed the rabbit out of fabric from one of her shirts. So I'd always have something of hers." His eyes drifted closed for a long moment. "I think in some ways she anticipated her death."

"What did she die from?" Nate asked, voice almost steady now. He sniffed once.

L opened his eyes. "She was murdered. My father killed her, then committed suicide." He spoke the words dispassionately. Nate wondered how many times he had been asked that question. "I was five."

"Is that why you come here so much?" Nate asked, trailing one finger absentmindedly over the rabbit's face. "Did you grow up here?"

L nodded. "I was one of the first."

"I see," Nate said, wiping away the last of his tears with a cotton sleeve. He had yet to change out of the plain white clothes that Mr. Wammy had given to him a few days ago when he had first arrived. He knew he must smell by now, but if he did, L showed no signs of noticing.

"Are you feeling better?" the detective asked, finally meeting Nate's eyes again. He asked the question as if it were a math problem, but the boy could sense the sincerity behind the words. He nodded.

"Thanks," he murmured looking down sheepishly. The rabbit looked up at him, a neutral expression sewed onto its face.

"Would you like to sleep?" L ventured after a few seconds.

There were no clocks in Wammy's House, at least none that Nate had seen. He guessed that it was to encourage the boys to keep at their studies for as long as possible – not limiting their creativity to any sort of schedule. Still, even without the use of a clock, Nate guessed that it was well past being late. In fact it was probably early. The moon had long ago set outside the thin glass window of his room, and the sky was utterly black. And yet, L did not seem tired. The bags under his eyes betrayed his constant lack of sleep, but his mannerisms did not suggest sluggishness. He was quite alert.

Nate shook his head. "I'm not really tired."

L gave a small shrug, as if he didn't see anything wrong with an eight year old boy staying up all night. Maybe he didn't.

"Would you like to keep the rabbit?" he asked. "You're welcome to it."

Nate considered, watching his reflection blink in the onyx shine of the stuffed animal's eyes. "I… I don't know."

"Understandable," L said clinically. "Remembering can be dangerous."

Nate's eyes flicked up to the detective's face suddenly. There was something he needed to know.

"How long did it take?" The child's voice was clear.

L had no question as to what the boy was referring to. He breathed in deeply, thought for a moment, then held up two fingers.

"Two years for the crying to stop. Perhaps another two years for the word 'mother' to stop triggering memories." He touched Nate's shoulder once more, this time with his whole hand. He curled his fingers gently along the curve of the boy's arm. With his other hand, he displayed all five digits. "A full five years to be able to touch the rabbit again."

"Did you have anyone to comfort you?"

L's silence, Nate decided, meant a definite 'no.'

After a second's hesitation, the eight year old scooted closer to the older boy. The rabbit lay forgotten less than a meter away. He stretched one arm across L's chest, burrowing his face into the detective's shoulder.

L stiffened, then relaxed slightly. "What are you doing?" he asked dubiously.

"Let me teach you." The boy's voice was muffled in the fabric of L's shirt. L shivered at the heat of his breath.

"Okay," he whispered. His heart beating a touch faster, L wrapped his arms carefully around the small, warm child. Nate melted into his touch with a sigh.

When the earth had completed its rotation, Quillsh Wammy found two orphans intertwined in sleep with none but a stuffed rabbit to guide them.


End file.
